Peter

Peter

It was a hot, August day in New York City, and although it was now late in the afternoon, the heat still radiated from the asphalt and sidewalks. We saw “Peter” sitting, his face in his right hand, beside a busy street. My dad approached him and after introducing the two of us asked him if I could take his picture. No response. Again my dad put this question to him and waited for a response. This time without opening his eyes or lifting his head he gave us permission with an ever-so-slight nod of his head.
During the next five minutes, or so, “Peter” never moved a muscle. Like Auguste Rodin’s sculpture ‘The Thinker’ he sat motionless. Perhaps “Peter” is mentally ill. Or, maybe, he was exhausted from sleeping on a park bench or in an alleyway. Whatever the case, everything about him—the way he held his face in his hand, his expression, his body language—gave us the impression of a young man who is despondent. It is this raw emotion, unpleasant though it is for the viewer to observe, that I have tried to capture with my camera.

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